Raccoon City Nightlife
by enRAGEd
Summary: Requested by Shakahnna. I'm sure I'm not the first to think of this. A night out on the town for the boys of S.T.A.R.S ends in a fistfight and a stern reprimand. Life is never dull when Forest Speyer is around. One-shot.


**Resident Evil: Raccoon City Nightlife**

Jill pored through the case files spread out across her desk. Each one told a different story, and each story had the same, grisly ending. Here was a family, dragged down and ripped to pieces in their own home. There was a bachelor and his date, coming in from a night out, only to find the killers waiting for them. All of them, no matter who they were, showed signs of human consumption - bite marks, missing appendages, missing chunks from where grasping hands had pulled flesh from bone. Even a big city cop like her was struggling not to lose her lunch looking at the crime scene photography.

It was amazing to think that probably the worst case she had ever heard about - let alone seen - was one from a small Midwestern city off the beaten path, rather than Chicago where she had started out. It was ironic as well. She never would have thought that a peaceful place like Raccoon City would have been able to serve as a den for cannibal psychos.

She looked through the reports again. There was something she was missing, she was sure of it. They'd ruled out a single serial murderer. Some of the places hit had been home to as many as four people, none of whom had survived, plus some of the bite marks differed in size and shape. It wasn't animals, since they'd long since verified that the teeth belonged to humans.

They'd also ruled out cult activity, though the point had been argued strenuously. In the end, the group's leader, Albert Wesker, had sided with Jill on the matter. The murders lacked any ritualistic nature; the feeding was frenzied and messy, without any religious symbolism or care taken to prepare the bodies.

And, for some reason, the killers didn't leave any forensic evidence behind them that the C.S.I teams could find, save traces of rotten meat in the wounds of their victims. Someone had conjectured that the roaming band were carrying trophies from their earlier kills, but something about that didn't ring true to her. It was probably the fact that even the first victims that been found with traces of decayed tissue adhering to their injuries. That meant something, but she wasn't sure what. She knew, though, that if she thought about it for long enough, she would reach the right conclusion.

In fact, she could almost feel the revelation coming now. She was on the precipice. One more step would send her sailing down into a glorious epiphany.

The sound of a card tower collapsing behind her, followed by a dissatisfied grunt, shook her from her work. She turned to see Chris, as he set about rebuilding his grand edifice. When he noticed her looking, he shot her a fond smile, which she returned in kind. It was nice to have her boyfriend around when she was working late at the office, even if there wasn't a lot to keep him occupied. She knew he was bored, but he had been resistant to the idea of going back to the apartment they shared, in case she needed anything. He wanted to be on hand, if she got thirsty or wanted a file from the archive.

It was sweet, but also somewhat distracting.

As she turned back to the beckoning folders, the door opened and two of their colleagues - a grinning Forest Speyer, accompanied by his partner in crime, Joseph Frost - stepped into the office.

"Chris, hey man, we're heading over to the bar for drinks," Forest greeted, never losing his affable smirk for even a moment, "you wanna tag along? Joe's gonna need someone to split the tab with."

"Yeah, can you believe this guy?" his colleague asked, jerking a thumb at the lank-haired officer in a manner that was less than serious, "he's all like 'don't worry, Joe; you get the first round and I'll get the next one', and then it's 'sorry, man; I spent all my money on ammo down at the range'."

"Terrible," Jill commented, shaking her head in mock-disgust, and grinning almost as broadly as Forest himself.

"Sure, we'll come, right Jill?" her boyfriend agreed. The expression that appeared on the faces of the other two men told the brunette that he hadn't given the response they'd expected. Obviously, they weren't used to drinking with a woman, even one who could hold her liquor the way she could.

"I'm still kind of busy here, Chris," she told him, noting the look of relief that crossed the features of his prospective drinking buddies, "why don't you take off, and I'll see you at home, okay? It'll be good for you. You're bored here; I can tell."

"Well, yeah, but it's not like I mind."

"Go out and have a good time," she insisted firmly, "it'll only be for a couple of hours. Think of it as an order, if that makes things easier."

He smiled at that, snapping off a quick salute, almost drawing himself up to attention as he did. "Yes ma'am."

"I like that." She favoured him with a sly smirk. "See you soon, soldier."

He replied in kind and stole a kiss, sliding his hand under her chin and pulling her in for contact, a little off-target, but still warm and affectionate. Then, he grabbed his jacket - the brown leather one he loved so much, with the angel bomber on the back - from his chair and followed the other two out of the office. She watched him leave, tapping her pen against her lips for a moment, savouring the feel of his against hers, and then turned back to her work.

She tried to remember what she had been thinking about before the first interruption.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Okay, let's get it straight now," Joseph said, as he set the cluster of three beer bottles down on the table where his colleagues were sitting, "I bought the first round, okay?"

"Whatever you say, man," Forest agreed, taking a swig from his drink as soon as it was pressed into his hand, "hits the spot, right, Chris? So what were you doing before they sent you out here to Raccoon?"

"I was with S.W.A.T three years," he told them conversationally, voice raised so that he could be heard over the pounding rock music rolling through the bar, "just made Sergeant before we left."

"Shit, congrats, buddy," the second man grinned, slapping him heartily in the shoulder, "that's a pretty big promotion. Shows commitment, dedication, shit like that. Me, I ain't never gonna reach Sergeant."

"He's right about that," his friend added helpfully, "this guy's a slob. His paperwork always looks like he's been holding the pen with his toes, and he's got this nasty habit of mouthing off in front of all the senior officers. And he only has the good sense to pretend he didn't know they were there some of the time, too. Hell, the only reason he's still on the force is because everyone thinks he's a girl, and they're all scared shitless he'll sue for unfair dismissal."

"You're a real pal, Joey."

"You just make it too easy for me. I can't resist."

The two R.P.D officers clinked bottles and took a swig in unison, while Chris watched, grinning and shaking his head.

"So you're S.W.A.T then. Ever been in on anything juicy?" Forest asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Like what?"

"You know, like hostage takings or drug busts, or something like that?"

"Those are pretty rare."

"What do you mean by rare?"

"Maybe ten, twelve a year, on a bad year."

"Holy shit," the other man spluttered, nearly choking on a mouthful of beer, "that many? I've been a member of the R.P.D for seven years now, and we haven't even had _one _of those. I mean, Chief Irons gave us a S.W.A.T team of our own about a decade ago, and they only get called out ... what? Once a year? Maybe. Man, I wish we could get action like that around here."

"It's not like they'd let you be a part of it, Forest," Joseph reminded him.

"Hey, if I thought I was gonna get a chance to do some real police work, then you'd better believe I'd try that little bit harder when it came to the shit that didn't matter. The most exciting thing that's happened in this city for a month was that domestic where that chick hit her boyfriend in the head with a skillet, and even then it turned out those two were as bad as each other. Wouldn't even press charges, for Christ's sake. I mean, except for the whole cannibal murders thing, but then, we're just sitting on our hands until they figure out what it is we're _doing _about it."

"Any guesses why he joined S.T.A.R.S?" his fellow Raccoon native asked Chris, rolling his eyes, "he's been bugging Marini about becoming a sharpshooter for months, and I think the Captain's about ready to cave, just to shut him up. He _wants_ to be a sniper, but he _needs _to be on Ritalin."

"Ha-fuckin'-ha. Hey, I'm empty. Mind getting us another round, Joe?"

The other man let out a sigh, and then stood resignedly from his chair, with a mutter of, "goddamn it."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Forest had a few more suggestions for places to drink, other than the bar they had started in. Chris bought a couple of rounds, but mostly it was Joseph footing the bill. As the night wore on, and they got progressively more and more drunk, the lank-haired male decided to take them on a tour of the city, and show the out-of-towner some of the finer sights in Raccoon.

They walked by the St Michael Clock Tower, the immense face lit up by spotlights so that it gleamed silver, like a second moon. He showed them a street he knew where the neon looked almost magical, and stopped in at a bar called J's. Kevin Ryman, from the station, was drinking there too, and they shared a couple of rounds with him.

Joseph was glad to find someone else who was willing to pay for Forest's apparently unquenchable thirst. Kevin put the drinks on his tab, and the waitress - a platinum blonde with a cheerful smile - half-seriously asked if he had any intention of paying for them this time.

When they departed for the next venue, their colleague stayed where he was, much to the youngest member of the trio's chagrin. They passed a section of road where the traffic signals were being repaired, and their "leader" stopped to pick up one of the traffic cones cordoning off the street so that he could wear it like a hat. Apparently, this was some kind of ritual when it came to nights out, and Chris didn't stop to question the sense or lawfulness of it, though he didn't follow the other man's lead.

They were only a block from the next bar on the list when he heard raised voices across the street. The others kept walking as he stopped to look, and saw a woman walking determinedly in the other direction that they were, three jeering men following close behind.

"What's up?" Joseph asked, apparently having realised that the other man had stopped in his stride, doubling back to check on him.

Even as he spoke, one of the trio of pursuers grabbed the female by the wrist. Without answering, the marksman started marching across the asphalt.

"Hey!" he called out, and all four individuals opposite turned to look at him, "you guys got a problem?"

"Looks like you're the one with the problem, pal," the opposing group's apparent leader grunted, rounding on him and letting the girl go.

She took that as her cue to hurry along the sidewalk as quickly as possible, for which he was glad. The last thing Chris wanted was an innocent bystander to complicate things. They were complicated enough as it was.

The men he was facing down were all shorter than him, but thickly built, the standard gym rat look. All told, that didn't necessarily mean trouble, but he had been a cop long enough to recognise aggressive, drunk individuals with no formal training as a serious threat, even to a professional like himself. A meaty hand grabbed him by the front of his jacket, the result being that he was pulled into a stoop rather than lifted off his feet, and the thug balled a fist.

While he hadn't been about to let the other man hit him, he had hoped to stop the situation from escalating by simply putting him in a lock of some kind. Instead, Forest appeared, slamming his fist into his jaw and sending him reeling backwards into the wall nearby.

"Problem solved," the long-haired male said with a cocky grin, moments before one of the other men grabbed him by a fistful of hair and pulled him into a punch to the stomach.

Joseph tried to wrestle with the man, and the third seized him around the arms, dragging him back so that the first could rain blows on him. Chris didn't even have to think about what to do. He lunged forward, punching the man who was hitting the youngest of his companions square in the nose, sending him reeling backwards, his nostrils spurting blood. A kick to the stomach pushed him backwards into the wall, where he slumped down, holding his broken face.

The thug holding Joseph's arms tried to hold him up like a human shield, but he responded by swinging his foot back between the man's legs. The blow connected with a thud, and he let out an almighty groan, allowing the cop to swing around and drive his elbow into the side of his head.

Chris started to turn his attention back to Forest, and then the male who had instigated the fight tackled him around the waist, forcing him backwards into a parked car. The alarm started to blare as he took a rough hit to the mouth that split his lip, before he wedged the base of his palm into the man's face, trying to push him away.

And that was when the R.P.D showed up.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Officer Speyer."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Kindly remove that traffic marker from your head."

"Yes, Captain."

Forest set the cone down on the tiled floor of one of the Central Precinct's backrooms, where they were receiving their dressing down. Wesker watched him lower it through his sunglasses, his disapproval plain on his features, despite the fact that they were emotionless. Chris and Joseph stood next to him, the first holding a handkerchief to his bloody lip, the other holding an ice pack over his black eye.

The situation was far less serious, but part of Chris remembered his court martial. If anything, his Captain was a little sterner than even the military judge that had sentenced him to dishonourable discharge, even if the repercussions of this would be that much easier to deal with. In spite of that, he felt much the same about his supposed crime - righteous and a little indignant.

They might have been embroiled in a fight in the middle of the street; they might have entered the station in handcuffs; another fight might have started in the lobby, but he was in the right. He wasn't about to let a bunch of drunk thugs pick on an innocent woman. Standing before Wesker, he kept his head held high.

"I am _exceptionally _disappointed in you all," the older man informed them bluntly, adjusting his shades casually, "you know well enough that matters such as the one you are describing are the purview of officers on duty, not three men inebriated and out of uniform. I neither expect nor tolerate this kind of behaviour from my subordinates."

Forest and Joseph looked away, eyes taking in anything other than their superior. Chris began to feel his former strength of conviction curdle slightly inside him.

"I am especially disappointed in you, Sergeant Redfield."

His eyes bulged. "Me, sir?"

"You were a military man, were you not? You know how important it is to follow the regulations laid out by your superiors. You are also the senior officer; you outrank Officers Speyer and Frost. Furthermore, as a representative of the Chicago branch of S.T.A.R.S, you are expected to set an example for our hosts."

Chris grimaced. Part of what was being said made him fill with pride; he was expected to lead by example, and who wouldn't be flattered by that kind of responsibility. At the same time, his superior's focus on him made him flush with embarrassment. To say that he was now beginning to feel like a tool would have been an understatement.

"You are fortunate that the female you described has come forward to offer a statement in your defence," the blond told them, after a few moments, "she has confirmed your accounts, and so no further action will be pursued against you. However, I will expect a written report from each of you by the morning. This must not happen again; do I make myself quite clear?"

They nodded their ascent, and with that he dismissed them, letting them file out into the corridor. Forest went to retrieve his traffic cone, and Wesker glared at him in such a way that he recoiled like he'd been struck, before hurrying after the others.

Once they were outside, they each let out a sigh of relief, both that they handed wound up in the cells overnight, and also that the reprimand was over.

"Looking forward to next time, guys," the long-haired male informed them, clapping them both on the back and grinning broadly as he walked away, a slight hitch in his step as he strode off.

"Nice getting to know you, Chris," Joseph said, shaking hands with him, before jerking his head in his partner's direction, "sorry about him."

"Don't worry about it," he insisted, "catch you later."

The younger man moved off, and then Chris felt hands wrap around his torso. He cupped Jill's hand as it touched his bruised ribs, letting her embrace him for a few moments, before turning around. She got a good look at the cut on his lip and put a hand to his face, frowning.

"We got into a fight. It wasn't our fault; these guys were hassling this girl..."

She shushed him into silence. "I heard all about it," she told him, "I know what kind of guy you are, Chris Redfield. I know there's only one reason you'd get into a fistfight with three strangers."

He clasped her finger in his as she stroked his jaw, pulling him in so that she could plant a gentle kiss on the tender area of his mouth.

"Poor baby," she muttered, "come on. Let's get you home. And next time you guys go out, I'm coming with you."

-x-x-x-x-x-


End file.
